Feed Me

by Valentine Michel Smith


Established relationship with residual secrets (so Clark thinks anyway).


He was hungry. So, so very hungry. It was unusual, the appetite, the urge to consume mass quantities... Wait. Wasn't that a Conehead thing? Great. He'd been reduced to replicating the behavior of fictional aliens. Of course, the thought of developing a pointy head and suddenly declaring he was from France well, he just wasn't going there.

Instead, Clark went through the refrigerator - and cleaned it out. He even drank the two six packs of beer his father had stashed for the weekend. And he was still hungry. So, so very hungry.

Clark sat in the kitchen and thought. The chair groaned under his weight - he'd probably demolished (conservatively) seventy-five pounds of groceries and liquids. Given he'd previously weighed about two hundred... It was bad enough he'd have to make some excuse about the missing food and beer (mutant cows, Dad! I swear!), but if he broke the chair, his mother'd kill him.

Clark sighed wistfully. He belched (albeit politely) and headed out to the barn. Maybe he could sleep this (whatever this was) off. His stomach gurgled. Sleep would apparently be impossible with all the sound effects his body was providing. And it didn't make any sense, but he needed more food. NOW!!! Though he considered it, rather than go after his family's livestock (the cows were way too skinny to be of use in his humble opinion - apparently, they couldn't feed themselves and wouldn't eat what he and his father provided), Clark ran to Metropolis.

So, he knew it was wrong, but he didn't have the money to pay for the forty-two Metrodogs he inhaled. He felt the flannel shirt as it tightened around his arms and across his back. Somehow, he was still hungry. So, so very hungry.

Clark ran by a bakery and emptied the display cases. Not that anyone saw him. One pie, two triple-layer lemon cakes, one chocolate mousse cheesecake, five-dozen cupcakes, and a very large pan of tiramisu later, the flannel shirt ripped and had to be discarded. Clark caught a glimpse of himself in the window. His legs were thicker, vaguely straining the heavyweight denim, but most of his increased mass seemed to have deposited itself around his stomach, chest, arms and back. The white t-shirt he wore looked scarily like it'd been latexed to his body, revealing every bulge and muscle, but held fast.

Trying to reconcile this body with the kid who'd just graduated high school, Clark stared more. His face didn't seem fat but fuller. He couldn't even begin to guess how much he weighed. Stupid scale in Bed, Bath & Beyond didn't go high enough. He snuck into a gym and just as he inched the slider over the 300 mark, embarrassment overcame him and he ran.

And he was still hungry. So, so very hungry.

Yikes.

Maybe more beer. He wouldn't get drunk (he hoped) but beer was filling, right? He snuck into Metropolis Brewery and emptied twenty kegs. That required unbuttoning the top button on the jeans (which surprisingly still held if uncomfortably) and continued negotiations with the t-shirt. He avoided the next gym's scale in spite of his curiosity. And dammit, he was still hungry.

Clark began to feel like he could eat his way through Metropolis, weigh eight hundred pounds (oh gawd, suppose he was already half that?) and still be hungry. He ran back to Smallville and directly to Lex's. He hesitated before knocking on the door.

The door fell inside. Ok, more weight, less control and/or more power. Not good any way he looked at it.

"Clark?"

"This was a bad idea." Clark whirled. His feet caught and he fell, collapsing onto the floor, shattering Italian marble. Maybe Lex wouldn't notice.

Lex stepped over the crater. "Are you okay? You look -"

"Fat?"

Tilting his head up to meet Clark's gaze, Lex smiled, blue eyes shining. "I believe the phrase I was looking for was 'more substantial'."

"Euphemism, Lex. Even I know... I'm hideous."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

As though Earth had anything to do with it. Or maybe Earth had everything to do with it, seeing as how he wasn't from here and maybe some Kryptonian/Earth allergy had kicked in and he wouldn't stopped eating until there wasn't anything left. He could gnaw on trees without hurting himself, but honestly, Clark wasn't too enticed by the prospect. "Look at me, Lex!" Clark gestured wildly - and knocked over a vase.

"Replica," offered Lex regarding the genuine Ming. "You simply look more like a linebacker and less like a quarterback."

Clark wailed.

"It's not a bad thing, Clark."

"I'm hungry, Lex! I've been eating all day, and I'm still hungry." Clark felt tears rising. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"It's not like there isn't food here."

"It's more like there won't be enough food here."

"Let's just see about that, shall we?"

Lex took a beefy hand in his slender one and led Clark into the kitchen.

Clark dismissed Cook and set about the task of feeding himself. He cleaned out Lex's freezer, refrigerator and cupboards, then looked at Lex hungrily.

"No, Clark." Lex took a step back.

Clark belched more loudly than he thought possible. Hopefully, Lex hadn't noticed.

"Metrodogs for lunch?" So much for Lex not noticing. "Luthor for dinner?"

"I'm not gonna eat you, Lex. At least, I don't think so." Clark stood, noticing the legs of the stool had bowed. He'd fix them later. He looked at the doorway. Staring at his hands, he had a pretty good idea with his even more broadened broad shoulders, he wouldn't make it through. "This is so not fair," Clark muttered.

Lex regarded him curiously and apparently didn't hear the complaint. "I've never seen anyone widen. At least, not in the span of fifteen minutes. Do you feel any different?"

"No. Just... bigger."

Lex inclined his head thoughtfully. "We do live in a society that believes that bigger is better."

"Since when did you go all 'rainbow dude? Hello? No longer able to fit through doorways. Not to mention this stool is beginning to feel like a thong in my ass."

"Point taken. Any other... Noticeable -"

Clark pouted realizing after the fact that pouting probably didn't work as well given his current condition. "I'm still hungry." Did his whining always sound so - ridiculous? Very gently, Clark rested his hand on his chin, placing an elbow on the counter. Instant hole. Rich or not, even Lex had to have his limits. Repairs would cost him a small, no large fortune.

Lex scrutinized his friend. "Has it occurred to you that you might not really be hungry?"

Clark's stomach rumbled. Loudly. "No."

"Perhaps you should think about it." Lex sidled closer. "Or, consider you may be hungry. For something other than traditional comestibles."

Clark raised an eyebrow and grinned slyly. "Oh?"

Lex nodded.

Clark pounced, taking out the stainless sink and stove as Lex dodged.

"Easy, big boy. I think I need to drive this -"

"Bus? You think I look like a bus!"

"There's a definite hormonal component to the binging. Now stop whining and let me help you."

"Got Fritos?"

"No."

"They might help."

"Clark, no amount of chemically altered tortilla chips will help. Unless we're talking about widening your ass."

"Further widening my ass? You think my ass is fat!"

"No, I didn't say that."

"But you thought it!"

"No, Clark, I did not. I am not the enemy here."

Clark squinted his eyes.

"Nor am I an entree."

Clark squinted his eyes more.

"Nor am I an appetizer."

Clark licked his lips and considered.

"Clark, do you trust me?"

Clark blinked. Could you trust a talking burrito? No, no, burritos didn't talk - at least not without some kind of accent. Mexican - burritos were Mexican food. Like quesadillas and arroz con pollo...

"Clark?"

Something wasn't right. Food didn't talk. Food didn't have eyes that cut right through you and made you want to do things you never thought of doing even if it didn't involve sporks or napkins. "Lex?"

"I'm right here."

"I think I'm in trouble."

"Really? What was your first clue?"

Hot sauce. And maybe some cheese... "Help me."

Lex raised his hands as though he were proving he was unarmed. "I want to help you, Clark." Lex grabbed a knife from the Wusthof block.

"No, Lex! Don't!"

"It's not exactly like I can pull that t-shirt over your head. It's a little tight." Lex made a neat cut, rending the shirt from Clark's body. Lex paused. In spite of the increased width, Clark was still quite a specimen. A triple - nearly quadruple his former size specimen, but honestly? Supremely easy on the eyes. As Lex hesitated, he found Clark gnawing on his ear. "Clark," he admonished.

Clark held the ear gently between his teeth as he apologized. "Soooreee."

"Clark..."

Instantly, Clark freed Lex's ear.

"And I don't want to hear how good I taste or how it'll only hurt for a minute."

"Oh, it wouldn't hurt. I'd finish much too -" Clark went crimson.

"Good. Now that we've established you'd treat me like a Metrodog." Lex's tone shifted. "Given our relationship, you could at least savor me."

"You sound offended."

"Maybe I am. I mean, if you're going to cannibalize someone - especially your 'best friend' - shouldn't it be an event?"

"I hadn't thought about it -"

"That way?"

"At all. I just keep thinking 'Um, um good'. No offense."

"None taken."

"Lex, I don't know how much longer I can hold on." Clark's stomach rumbled again, loudly enough this time to make Lex hold his ears.

"Hands back." Lex inclined, licking Clark's nipple.

"How's that supposed to hel-"

Lex continued licking, paying special attention to the crook of Clark's arm. "No guarantees. But I have a suspicion...

"Regarding?"

"Sublimation."

"No. Really?"

"Yes, really. And if what I'm doing doesn't work, I fully expect the dignity of being plattered and garnished before you ingest me."

Clark looked puzzled.

"The garnish doesn't have to be fancy. Some grapes, an apple..."

Clark spoke to clarify. "But, I don't feel, you know, that way -"

"Horny?"

Clark tilted his head to indicate "yes."

"At all?"

Clark shook his head no. Lex ripped Clark's boxers. Instantly, he began licking abdomen, dropping his head lower and lower. He stopped. "Still hungry?"

"Not as. It must be working."

"Then I should keep at it."


Approximately seventy-two hours later, after Lex had begged for mercy (without meaning it), after mass quantities of Gatorade (blech!) had been consumed, after Clark had been made to writhe and wriggle and still himself on command, it seemed his inexplicably enormous appetite had been sated.

"You have a very intriguing way of being in the world," observed Lex. "Any idea what provoked the binging?"

"Lex, if I knew, don't you think of I would tell you?"

"I'd hope so. I mean, I may want Hulk!Clark back."

"Oh? Even at the risk of being eaten?" Clark pinned Lex to the bed. He was guessed his weight was around two-twenty-five - not where he'd started but the new heft made him feel less boyish and more manly.

"I'd be willing to take that chance."

"What if you can't get him back?"

"I may have to make some phone calls, engage some reporters... I'm sure The Inquisitor would find the scenario absolutely fascinating."

Clark stared at Lex, green eyes intense. He leaned close. "Tease."

Lex kissed him sweetly on the lips. "You say that as though it's a bad thing."



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